“That night… she was going to tell us. Chase must have?—”
“Silenced her,” Dredyn finishes. He swipes a thumb beneath his eye, as if to erase any sign of weakness. “All this time… the Syndicate covered for him?—”
“He’ll pay.”
Dredyn meets my gaze and translates aloud. “He’ll pay.”
“Damn right he will,” Talon mutters. He scrubs both hands over his face, then glances at his phone lying on the desk. “It’s morning already—election day.” He laughs without humor. “Chase is probably with the Blacks right now, preparing for tonight’s circus.”
Mara.
She’s likely back at her father’s estate, being primped and prepped to play her part—the blushing bride-to-be of a monster.
“We have what we need,” Talon continues, tapping the desk. “We can confront Clark Black with this. If Mara’s father sees what Chase did?—”
Dredyn barks out a bitter laugh. “You think he’ll care? He’s known all along, Talon. This was arranged, remember? The Syndicate promised Mara to Chase. They probably made Chase kill Evie because he was close to her and shouldn’t have been.”
Clark Black gave his daughter to the same bastard who killed our sister. Whether he knows it or not, he’s delivering Mara into the hands of amurderer.
“So, what do we do? Let it happen?” Talon asks.
Neither Dredyn nor I respond immediately. I see the muscle ticking in Dredyn’s jaw, the calculations firing behind his eyes as he weighs vengeance against the political might of Clark and the Syndicate. My own mind races. We have proof, but if the Blacks and Harringtons control the narrative. Evidence might not be enough. Not enough, anyway, to stop tonight’s engagement.
Talon meets my gaze across the room, eyes searching. “What do we do, Jas?”
Before I can answer, movement outside the window catches my eye. Through a gap in the heavy drapes, I see someone striding across the lawn next door. The Psi Theta Omega house sits just fifty feet from ours.
Milo is dressed in a tailored navy suit despite the early hour, his phone pressed to his ear as he marches toward a sleek black town car idling at the curb. Heading off to join Daddy dearest on election day, no doubt.
Anger surges hot through my veins. There he goes, utterly unaware that the world he’s about to celebrate is built on our sister’s bones.
On Mara’s misery.
Dredyn is already moving. He stalks to the front door and yanks it open. “Milo!”
Milo halts, lowering his phone. He turns with an annoyed scowl, clearly not expecting to be accosted before breakfast. Milo’s scowl slips into wariness.
“I’m in a hurry,” he calls out coolly. “Whatever this is, make it quick.”
“This won’t take long,” Dredyn growls. We fan out around Milo, subtly cutting off his path to the car. The driver watches us from behind the wheel, but wisely stays put. “We need to talk about Chase.”
At that, Milo straightens to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “What about him?”
Dredyn doesn’t bother with finesse. “Chase Harrington killed Evangeline Thorn.”
Milo blinks, as if convinced he misheard. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Chase was with her the night she died. He murdered her, and the Syndicate covered it up.”
Milo’s eyes flick to me, then Talon, then back to Dredyn. A laugh bursts from him—sharp, disbelieving. “That’s a disgusting accusation. Chase would never?—”
“Save it,” Talon cuts in. “We found proof, Milo. Texts, photos, records tying Chase to Evangeline all the way up to the night of her death.”
I pull a folded printout from my pocket, the photo of Chase stalking Evangeline on the stairs, and thrust it against Milo’s chest. He snatches it reflexively and glances down. His brow furrows as he recognizes the setting and faces.
“This . . . this is bullshit,” he sputters. “Where did you even get?—”
“Your father’s Syndicate friends made sure it was hushed up nice and neat.”
